


Knockout

by akaparalian



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Real World, Awkward Flirting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Podfic Available, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25659952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: When Trunks comes home from school on the day which will live on in Vegeta's memory forever as the beginning of the end, what he yells is, "Goten's dad is teaching me kung fu!"Vegeta looks up just in time to see Trunks take a very wobbly fighting stance and kick at the air with an absolute lack of precision, grace, and power."Not very well," he says.
Relationships: Son Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 89
Collections: #ficwip 5k





	Knockout

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [Ficwip](http://twitter.com/ficwip) 5k -- a challenge to write an AU fic in 5,000 words or less. As I finished my first draft, I realized I was going to be cutting it very close to that 5k mark, so I decided to give myself the additional challenge of clocking in at _exactly_ 5,000 words, and I'm ridiculously pleased that I did, haha.

It starts with Bulma's scheming, as usual. 

Vegeta knows that this is the case because of the process of elimination, if nothing else — _he_ certainly isn't responsible, and he doesn't know who else would be — and he also knows it because the woman has a track record for mischief that's even longer than her CV. But, on top of that, he knows because when Trunks comes home from school on the day which will live on in Vegeta's memory forever as the beginning of the end, what he yells is, "Goten's dad is teaching me kung fu!"

There's not even a "Hi, dad," which would be typical and also respectful, just an immediate descent into something that Vegeta can already tell is going to give him a migraine. He's heard of the famous Goten, of course — Trunks' best friend from school. The fact that his home has yet to be invaded by any brats less well-behaved than his own son is practically a miracle at this point, especially given that, as he recalls, Goten is the younger child of one of Bulma's oldest friends, a man he's never met but has occasionally heard stories about. This is the detail which confirms his immediate suspicion that whatever this nonsense is, it must be her doing.

He looks up just in time to see Trunks take a very wobbly fighting stance and kick at the air with an absolute lack of precision, grace, and power.

"Not very well," he says, but, annoyingly, he can hear his ex-wife's voice in his brain with a response to _that_ before he's even done speaking: _You don't get to complain when he's been asking_ you _to teach him to fight for months and you keep refusing, jackass._

Trunks only shakes his head, slinging his backpack down and racing around the house with all the energy a seven-year-old boy can muster — which, of course, is _a lot_ — making a lap of the entryway and living room before coming to a stop in front of his father and striking out at him with a couple of pathetic jabs Vegeta doesn't even bother blocking. "He's amazing! He's totally the best!" He pauses for a moment, and then his eyes light up. "Oh my god, Dad, _you should fight him_."

"I don't think so," Vegeta says flatly. "I'm not getting involved in this regardless, and I'm certainly not going to do something as pointless as that."

"What do you mean, pointless?" Trunks argues, putting his hands on his hips and glaring up into his father's face.

"I mean I don't think it would be very difficult to wipe the floor with someone who can't even teach basic forms to a seven-year-old," Vegeta replies. When Trunks mutters something that sounds very much like _well at least he's not too chicken to teach me at all_ , he elects to ignore it. 

"I hope you don't think _I'll_ be taking you to these classes," he adds, because while Bulma can ferry Trunks to whatever extracurriculars she chooses, _he_ has standards. Then he briskly changes the subject: "Now, how was school?" And when Trunks is relatively willing to take that cue and move on, he considers his job well enough done for now.

—

"Of course you have to take Trunks to Goku's, he can't just skip classes whenever he's with you," Bulma shouts immediately when Vegeta makes the mistake of answering her call a week later, even though he's out running errands and shoulddefinitely know better by now than to answer when she calls him any time, but especially when he's in public. It seems that Trunks may be picking up that bad habit of starting conversations without any kind of greeting from his mother. That may be something they'll have to have a talk about.

"You registered him, not me," Vegeta snipes back at her immediately. "I wasn't even consulted. You can't just _assume_ I'll be able to take him, woman. You should have checked."

"I can too assume, you never do anything except brood in your stupid house and go to your stupid meathead gym," Bulma replies, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. "I'm pretty sure you can make the time."

She is, unfortunately, completely correct, though it's not as though he has to admit it — and he certainly doesn't intend to. "I still should have been consulted."

"Yeah, right," Bulma says. There's a crackle of static on the other end of the line as she sighs. "Look, I still haven't figured out what your weird complex is about not wanting Trunks to train with you, but he really wants to learn, so I figured I could at least find _someone_ who was willing to teach him if you insist on being a weird hardass about it. Which, it's you, so I can't imagine why I'd be surprised. Either get over yourself and teach him yourself, or get over yourself and take him to Goku's, but either way, get over yourself."

And just like that, she hangs up, leaving him staring at his cell phone in the middle of the grocery store, incensed. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. She never has put much stock in the concept of listening to what other people have to say once she's set her mind on something — it was something Vegeta admired about her when they first met, but something that's been driving him up the wall ever since. In a way, it's responsible for both their marriage _and_ their divorce.

Regardless, though, it leaves him stuck in the position of either ceding the argument and taking Trunks to his... lesson — the word itself feels distasteful, as far as Vegeta's concerned — or allowing it to blow up into something much larger than it already is, and, for that matter, much larger than it really needs to be.

Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone else, but standing there in the cereal aisle, surrounded by strangers, he allows himself to think of how excited Trunks had been when he came home and told him about the lessons the previous week — about his teacher, and what he was learning — and contrasts that with the sour little frowns that have always creased the boy's brow whenever he's asked Vegeta to teach him or train him in the past, and Vegeta has said no. And Vegeta _has_ always said no, or, at least, he's said no ever since the one time he said yes, which had ended.... less than well. At the time, he hadn't been willing to entertain Bulma's argument that he'd simply been too hard on Trunks, that no child his age could possibly be expected to stand up to the rigors of Vegeta's normal training routine. That, if he could "get your head out of your ass, you massive prick," as she so charmingly put it, and approach Trunks at the boy's own level, they might be able to actually enjoy training together for once. Their own special version of the archetypal father and son playing catch in the front yard with a worn-out baseball glove.

He'd thought that was ridiculous, soft, pandering talk. And Trunks had stopped asking to train with him for a long time after that, which had only confirmed his thinking. But Trunks _had_ started asking again recently, with a renewed fervor, even, and seeing how happy he'd been after training with the elusive Goku...

Damn it all, Vegeta isn't just going to take Trunks to his lesson. Meekly taking him and saying nothing more of it, he decides, would constitute defeat. No, he _will_ take Trunks, but he will go himself, too, and get a good look at the situation, and then he will determine a way to surpass whatever it is that Goku is doing that has his son so enraptured. If his son is going to learn to fight, no one will teach him but Vegeta himself. He will be victorious, and in so doing win back whatever piece of his son's respect had been transferred from him to this _interloper._

He catches himself smiling viciously at a box of Cheerios and quickly schools his features into something more normal, glancing around to be certain that no one has seen him. Victory is all well and good, and he has no doubt he can easily surpass any other fighter in the world, especially when it came to instructing his own son. First, though, it might help to finish his shopping.

—

Trunks gives him dubious little looks in the rear-view mirror throughout the entire drive to the martial arts studio, tiny frowns and narrowed eyes that are terrifyingly reminiscent of Bulma. Vegeta doesn't deign to acknowledge any part of it; Trunks has shown a remarkable lack of gratitude for the fact that Vegeta agreed to take him to his lesson, and while he's not going to hold that over the boy's head, he's certainly not going to indulge him by talking about whatever it is he's feeling right now. They're already doing the thing Trunks had asked for, and _he_ has no way of knowing that Vegeta is doing it primarily out of a desire to achieve victory over a man he's never met. As far as Trunks is aware, he's simply getting his way. He ought to be _grateful_ , not looking at his father like he's expecting him to explode at any moment.

Granted, Vegeta's decision to wear his workout gear may have been... less than subtle. But surely Trunks is too young to catch onto details like that.

His GPS directs him to a building which is, at first glance, deeply underwhelming. It's in a nondescript strip center, weeds pushing up through cracks in the asphalt, and the front window could do with a thorough cleaning. Faded lettering above the door reads _"_ Turtle School Martial Arts," which confirms that they are, at least, in the right place. 

Vegeta parks the car in silence, and double-checks that the doors are locked with a paranoid tug as soon as Trunks has gotten out of the backseat. He doesn't like the thought of leaving his sleek sedan in this parking lot unsupervised.

His son, though, transforms completely as soon as his feet hit the poorly-maintained pavement: he's off like a shot before Vegeta can even turn around, and within moments he's pulling the door open with an impatient, "Dad, come on!"

It would be ridiculous to hurry, but Vegeta doesn't exactly dawdle, either. Despite himself, he feels his heart rate pick up in anticipation as he approaches the building.

By the time he actually reaches the door, Trunks has given up on waiting for him and dashed inside. It's not difficult to find him once Vegeta does step into the building, the bell over the door making a grating noise to mark his entrance. Trunks stands out from the crowd, with his hair, and he has made a beeline for a little boy with dark, spiky hair who's practically hanging off of him. It takes about two seconds of observing them to determine that this is Goten, largely because as Vegeta watches, the dark-haired boy says, "Trunks, you were almost late!", and Trunks responds, "It's my dad's fault, Goten, he was so _slow_ today — I'm not the last one here, am I?", which Vegeta doesn't think is exactly fair, but he's not going to argue the point with his seven-year-old.

Besides, he has better things to do: he stands around just close enough to Trunks to give the vague impression that he's dropping his son off and nothing more even as he scans the room for the man he's here to see. 

He has no idea what this Goku looks like, of course, but when he sees a man who somehow looks exactly like a taller, older version of the boy his son is fawning over, he knows that has to be him — and, actually, after a moment's thought he realizes that he recognizes him from a photo Bulma used to keep on her desk, though he'd never thought to ask about the people in it. 

They're the only two adults in the room, and it's a wide-open, empty space otherwise occupied only by a bunch of knee-high brats. It's not exactly difficult for the two of them to spot each other and make eye contact, and the instant their eyes meet, Goku smiles broadly and practically skips across the room.

"Are you Trunks' dad?" he says as he crosses the floor, sounding positively delighted. "Nice to meet ya! I'm—"

Before he can finish, however, Trunks unsticks himself from his slightly smaller shadow and all but shrieks, "Goku, you and my dad have to fight!"

Goku's smile freezes. "Uh?"

Goten, who is clearly more than willing to follow Trunks into any kind of nonsense, immediately takes up the cry: "Yeah, dad, you gotta fight him!"

"Uh," Goku says, looking slightly dubious, "are you guys sure that—"

"My dad is a _super_ good fighter!" Trunks says. Vegeta feels nothing in particular about this declaration. "You _have_ to fight him!"

Goku turns to Vegeta with his eyes wide. But then he very visibly takes in the way Vegeta's dressed, the biceps threatening to tear straight through the sleeves of his workout top, and says, "Um... did you know about this?"

"I had some idea," Vegeta replies, unable to tamp down on the smirk that works its way across his face. "I thought I should come and size up my son's... instructor for myself."

"Oh!" Goku looks surprised for about half a second before his expression transforms into something openly thrilled. His smile is wide enough to make him look completely idiotic, and his eyes sparkle with delight in a way that makes him look like a child. Vegeta's smirk threatens to go even wider. He is going to wipe the _floor_ with this oaf. "Great, well! If you want to fight, I'd _love_ that."

Something new flashes across his face for just a moment that actually makes Vegeta pause for a tic. Had he imagined it, or was there a glint in Goku's eyes when he said _I'd love that_ that far surpassed the cheerful joy of a few seconds ago?

He straightens his shoulders and elects to ignore it — it doesn't matter, anyway. What matters is the fight.

"If you're willing," he says, "I certainly am."

Goku claps his hands together in front of his chest. Whatever it was that Vegeta might or might not have seen in him a few seconds ago is completely gone again, if it was ever there to begin with; in its place is the same vapid cheerfulness as before. "Great! This will be an awesome way to start class. OK, guys," he adds, raising his voice and clapping again — this time to garner attention — as he moves toward the center of the room, where there's a ring outlined in black tape. "Gather up! We're gonna have a demonstration!"

Vegeta moves to follow him, which is made more difficult than he expects by the crowd of rugrats which condenses around them almost instantaneously. It's not difficult to figure out what's got them so excited; their whispering is far from subtle. They are, in summary, intrigued by Vegeta, and gleeful about how they believe he is going to get his ass kicked. He actually hears one girl say, "I bet it will be even worse than that time with Mr. Yamcha," and another nods in solemn agreement as he watches, which he would find insulting if they weren't children, and therefore stupid.

He's not thrilled to find out from a little girl that his ex-wife's ex-boyfriend apparently also frequents this establishment, but he decides to put that aside for now.

With children lined up all around the makeshift ring, Vegeta and Goku take up their positions on opposite sides of the space. Vegeta narrows his eyes, trying to size Goku up. It's impossible to deny that he's relatively muscular, but any idiot can keep themself in good shape. And, frankly, Goku is too loose and smiley for Vegeta to think that he's anything worth being afraid of. Hell, if _Yamcha_ teaches here, or fights here, or whatever it is that he does, well. That certainly says something about the quality of the establishment. Abruptly, he feels ridiculous for this idea all over again. What is Trunks going to think if Vegeta breaks his teacher's arm or cracks his skull open? Maybe he should — 

Before his eyes, in the space of a heartbeat, he watches with some genuine surprise as Goku transforms from a slack-limbed idiot into something dangerous, poised to strike.

Vegeta doesn't even have a chance to process the sudden shift before Goku is on him like a flash, striking cleanly for his head and then immediately following it up with a low sweeping kick. Vegeta reels back in shock and disgust, scowling fiercely as he dodges and parries, moving with an economy of motion that does little to hide the flare of anger that's heating his skin. It's absolutely unacceptable for him to have let _this_ man get the drop on him; he hates to think what his father would say.

He is forced to realize within those first few seconds of the fight that Goku is not the idiot he'd taken him for. He would frankly rather die than admit it out loud, but it becomes obvious within a few minutes that the two of them are actually fairly evenly matched in terms of skill — it's easy to recognize someone else who's been doing this since childhood in the way Goku moves, the smooth, instinctual way he reacts to Vegeta's blows and kicks — and Goku is bigger, taller, and fueled by a crowd of screaming children. That matched skill level is in danger of tipping out of Vegeta's favor, and while he's more than proud enough to be horrified by it, he's not too proud to recognize that it's true.

Everything about this situation is absolutely unacceptable. Vegeta snarls and doubles down, which, to his complete annoyance, seems to absolutely _thrill_ Goku.

"Geeze, now I see where Trunks gets it!" the idiot says, even as he ducks to the side to avoid a kick that should by all rights have given him a black eye. "You're the real thing, huh?"

Vegeta doesn't dignify that with a response — at least, not outside of blocking an open-palm strike from Goku and countering with a jab of his own.

"How come you've never come around here before?" Goku presses on relentlessly when Vegeta doesn't respond. It's unclear if he's not aware that Vegeta is ignoring him, or if he's simply choosing to ignore that response right back. "We could have been sparring this whole _time!"_

Good god, _why_ is this idiot talking like they're already _friends_ , who does he think he — _shit_. Vegeta lets himself get distracted by glaring at Goku's stupid smile, and his stupid biceps flexing as he moves, and his stupid hair, which is just starting to stick to his forehead with sweat, for just long enough for Goku to see that distraction and make good use of it. And now he's pushing his advantage, the prick, picking up speed with his motions and slowly but surely pushing Vegeta back toward the edge of the ring.

There's simply nothing to do but force himself to regain focus, and from there, amp up the aggression; he has to come back from a disadvantaged position, and that's not going to happen if he lets himself be kept on the defensive. He sees his opening for just a split second, and just in time: Goku leaves a hair's breadth of an opening as he rocks his weight back to prepare for his next move, and Vegeta doesn't hesitate. It's not precisely polite to strike hard enough to do serious damage in a low-stakes spar like this, but Vegeta has never cared less about anything in his life than he does about that in this moment. He strikes out for Goku's neck with an extraordinarily real viciousness, aiming to do as much damage as possible his eyes narrowed to slits.

" _Whoa!"_ Goku yells as he dodges — _fuck_ him — and Vegeta's so royally pissed off about both the dodge and the yell that he doesn't see the grapple coming in time to wriggle out of it.

He still manages to gain control of it for just a split second — just long enough for Goku to be thrown off balance, too — but just like that, the fight is over, as they both go tumbling down to the ground in a disorganized twisting of limbs.

Vegeta, lying there on the ground, has a lot of thoughts running through his head, none of them particularly pleasant. But on top of all of them are two distinct points of physical perception: one, his arms are being pinned down by one of Goku's forearms, and he can all but feel their bones grating together with the force of it. And, two, Goku is sprawled across his hips, his thighs spreading on either side of Vegeta's waist.

Actually, add to that a third point: Vegeta is distinctly intrigued by this situation, in ways his workout pants aren't going to do anything to hide.

The children aren't concerned with anything that's going on in Vegeta's head, however. They've started cheering and shouting; it's not difficult to make out from the ruckus that they believe Goku's won, exactly as they knew he would all along.

Vegeta, though he's not exactly thrilled with the outcome of this fight, knows better than that — and a quick, shrewd glance upward confirms that Goku knows it, too. Goku may have ended up on top, but the fight was overall more or less a draw, really; up until the very end, up until Vegeta got _distracted_ , they were trading blows evenly. Even now, Vegeta has enough freedom of movement in his legs that he could flip them if he wanted to... and, god, _he wants to,_ at least in part.But, on the other hand, this seems like as good a way as any to end the fight.

After a moment which is both longer and tenser than it has any right to be, Goku rolls off of Vegeta and then up to his feet in one disgustingly fluid motion. He offers Vegeta a hand up barely a second later, and, worse even than that, his eyes don't leave Vegeta for even a split second the entire time. Vegeta even realizes, as he grudgingly accepts the hand up and turns away to brush the dust from his pants, that some portion of that stare is being directed squarely at his ass.

There is just... far too much about this situation for him to process at the moment, and frankly, he's not even sure that he _wants_ to process any of it. He elects to ignore all of it for the time being and find his son in the cheering crowd instead. 

Trunks is not far away, and he shoves through the other kids to zip to his father's side more or less as soon as Vegeta catches sight of him. He's grinning ear to ear, his eyes sparkling with pure delight.

"Dad, that was _awesome!"_ he enthuses, throwing a slightly wobbly punch and following it up with an even more unsteady kick. Then he puts his hands on his hips, grinning, and Vegeta feels something altogether ridiculous tighten up in his chest.

"I'll be back to pick you up in an hour," he says, nodding at his son with businesslike determination. For just a moment, though, he pauses, forgetting the outcome of his own fight for long enough to fully meet Trunks' eyes. 

"Make me proud," he adds, gruffly, before he more or less stumbles out the door.

—

Vegeta is absolutely man enough to go to Starbucks and get a latte at 7 o'clock at night and then sit in the parking lot to drink it and _absolutely not_ obsess over the past hour of his life. He _is not obsessing._ He's... ruminating. He's replaying every element of the fight in his mind in excruciating detail as a tactical decision, so that next time, he'll be better prepared, and he'll wipe the _floor_ with Goku. He's certainly not thinking of anything else, anything more damning, like the way his gaze had lingered or the hard muscle of his thighs.

He's a little late getting back to the Turtle School. When he pulls back into the parking lot, it's nearly empty, all the other parents seemingly having already collected their brats and gotten out of there. Through the studio's dingy front window, he can see just two little bodies: Trunks and Goten, of course, both of them easily recognizable even from this distance, sparring in a much more restrained, _un_ trained, and friendly manner than their fathers had. 

Goku, equally recognizable, especially given that he's the only adult in the room, is watching them; as Vegeta starts to get out of the car, he watches the man's mouth open in a wide smile, cheering the boys on, occasionally shouting what seem to be words of advice and encouragement. When he locks the car, though, the cheerful beep cutting through the night air as the lights flash once, Goku's eyes unerringly find him out there in the dark, and without breaking that eye contact, he calls out to the boys, who stop their spar. 

Before Vegeta can even start to think about going inside, all three of them are headed his way, light pouring out onto the concrete as Trunks and Goten practically race each other out the door, with Goku following close behind.

"Dad, you have to let me show you what we learned today!" Trunks says, and then immediately launches into a string of moves that could be either kung fu forms or interpretive dance. Goten copies him, the two of them syncing their motions remarkably well for two children who otherwise appear exactly as competent as one would expect seven-year-olds to be, and when they finish their sequence, both beaming up at him, Vegeta manages a small, grim smile.

"You've been busy," he says, which is about the most neutral statement he can muster. 

Trunks grins, clearly pleased — he wouldn't be Vegeta's son if he hadn't already mastered the art of reading between the lines, even at his tender age. He understands what his father means. 

He's also clearly exhausted; the yawn that practically cracks his jaw is painfully obvious, but the slump in his little shoulders is really all the proof Vegeta needs. Even with his friend there to energize and excite him, he looks about five seconds from falling asleep standing up.

"Car," Vegeta says, and the final mark of exactly how tired Trunks is is that he goes perfectly agreeably, the only downside being that Goten goes with him. Vegeta isn't interested in bringing home a second child, so _that_ will have to be fixed before he leaves, but, actually, it serves Vegeta's purpose well enough for the moment, so it's fine for now.

The car door shuts behind the boys, leaving Vegeta and Goku standing in the dark, with at least the illusion of privacy, in a moment of moderately awkward silence.

Vegeta certainly isn't going to be the first to say anything. He studies Goku silently instead, narrowing his eyes and noting in an entirely objective and reasonable manner the way in which the moonlight catches on the curve of his cheek. This isn't at all the same as their spar, but it _is_ a competition, and being the first one to speak would make Vegeta the loser. This time, he fully intends to win. 

Eventually, when the moment can drag on no longer, Goku breaks first, and gestures toward the car. "Prius? That's a bit of a surprise."

"It's fuel-efficient," Vegeta says stiffly. He does not mention that Bulma was the one who had picked it out and purchased it for him, because the fact that he's still driving a car his ex-wife bought him does not feel relevant at the present moment.

"Right," Goku says. For a moment, they lapse back into silence; Goku bites his lip, looking uncertain for just a moment. Then, all at once, he blurts, "Hey — you have to bring Trunks next week, too."

"He'll be at his mother's next week," Vegeta says, even though he knows that this is missing the point a little bit. He wants to see how far Goku is willing to go with this.

"Well, you should come anyway!" he says, leaning in just a little. "I mean, you and Bulma are still pretty good friends, right? She talks about you all the time."

He wouldn't precisely say that he and Bulma were ever _friends_ , at least not as he understands friendship — somehow that seems too soft for either one of them — but he certainly isn't trying to avoid her, no. "I'll have to see what my schedule is like next week."

"Well — well, just in case, here," Goku says, sounding almost _urgent_ , and abruptly Vegeta finds that there is a slip of paper being shoved into his hands. He looks down reflexively and sees a phone number.

Inexplicably, impossibly, _ridiculously_ , Vegeta feels heat rise in his cheeks. Even still, he takes the piece of paper, and even goes so far as to tuck it carefully into his pocket as Goku watches.

Chivying Goten out of the car is almost a blur; getting into the driver's seat and turning the key certainly is. Goku doesn't say anything more, really, through the entire process, but as Vegeta peels out of the parking lot, he sees him staring from the sidewalk, clutching his son's hand.

In the darkness, Vegeta takes a moment to smirk to himself. He just might come back next week — but he's definitely not going to tell Goku that. It seems enjoyable to let him stew in the meantime.

**Author's Note:**

> My wife, reading over my shoulder as I worked on this fic: So, to be clear, divorced Prius-driving Vegeta just got floored in front of a bunch of 7-year-olds?  
> Me: ...and then got a boner about it, yeah
> 
> (No Priuses were harmed in the making of this fic.)
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/akaparalian) and [Tumblr](http://floralegia.tumblr.com)!


End file.
